Poetry On Odyssey: What Is Love

Poetry On Odyssey: What Is Love

What's love when I am faced to see the damage you have left me.
30
views

This is a poem that I wrote a couple months back when I was faced with a question someone asked me. "What has been your definition of love through your younger years as a child?" Coming from a home where addiction was present, this word became a game that I never thought would leave me trying to find the truth of what it really is till this day. To grow up trying to love someone who doesn't have the capacity to love you in a way that you need because addiction destroys every ounce of what love is supposed to be.


What Is Love

What's love when all you were was a man who slept on the floor and went in and out of the front door.

And I came home to that same look I still can't deal with anymore.

What's love when I cried myself to sleep and when I still think to myself how you chose a drug over me.

Was I the person who caused you to be the man I see?

What's love when you washed me away and never wanted to see my face and addiction was all you wanted to chase.

How it always had a head start and stole every chance I wanted to take.

It was ready to welcome with a deceiving embrace.

What's love when I felt like you always looked past me and I felt replaced.

Every word I spoke, every time I wanted to love you, and the times I needed you it always came back to me having to find an escape.

What's love when I long for you to love me back and I am finding myself still looking through the bathroom crack.

Memories that I still can't erase and get over the fact how I still try to want you to come back.

But, every time I let you in I keep on becoming this broken glass you hold in your hand and throw it around all over again.

What's love when you make me believe I'm nothing and you allow me to accept these dark feelings.

But here I am still trying to defend you and protect you, telling myself excuses to make me feel less angry. But in reality, you deserve the anger I have inside.

Love became the lies which still haunt me every time I think about myself.

It turned into becoming a twisted game.

I despise you didn't think I would ever grow into a human being and say how much I really don't like how you caused me to think till this day.

Internally screaming, I just want to be free from these chains you designed to create.

What's love when you can't seem to stop and take a look at what you are doing.

What's love when I am faced to see the damage you have left me.

What's love when it stole us ever truly being one big family.

And I will never get those chances that other little girls got to.

What's love when it's hard to now let people truly love me.

What's love when I'm left to find a new meaning.


-AKay

Popular Right Now

The Coach That Killed My Passion

An open letter to the coach that made me hate a sport I once loved.
600380
views

I fell in love with the game in second grade.

I lived for every practice and every game. I lived for the countless hours in the gym or my driveway perfecting every shot, every pass, and every move I could think of. Every night after dinner, I would go shoot and would not allow myself to go inside until I hit a hundred shots. I had a desire to play, to get better and to be the best basketball player I could possibly be.

I had many coaches between church leagues, rec leagues, personal coaches, basketball camps, middle school, and high school. Most of the coaches I had the opportunity to play for had a passion for the game like I did. They inspired me to never stop working. They would tell me I had a natural ability. I took pride in knowing that I worked hard and I took pride in the compliments that I got from my coaches and other parents. I always looked forward to the drills and, believe it or not, I even looked forward to the running. These coaches had a desire to teach, and I had a desire to learn through every good and bad thing that happened during many seasons. Thank you to the coaches that coached and supported me through the years.

SEE ALSO: My Regrets From My Time As A College Softball Player

Along with the good coaches, are a few bad coaches. These are the coaches that focused on favorites instead of the good of the entire team. I had coaches that no matter how hard I worked, it would never be good enough for them. I had coaches that would take insults too far on the court and in the classroom.

I had coaches that killed my passion and love for the game of basketball.

When a passion dies, it is quite possibly the most heartbreaking thing ever. A desire you once had to play every second of the day is gone, it turns into dreading every practice and game. It turns into leaving every game with earphones in so other parents don't talk to you about it. It meant dreading school the next day due to everyone talking about the previous game. My passion was destroyed when a coach looked at me in the eyes and said, "You could go to any other school and start varsity, but you just can't play for me."

SEE ALSO: Should College Athletes Be Limited To One Sport?

Looking back now at the amount of tears shed after practices and games, I just want to say to this coach:

Making me feel bad about myself doesn't make me want to play and work hard for you, whether in the classroom or on the court. Telling me that, "Hard work always pays off," and not keeping that word doesn't make me want to work hard either. I spent every minute of the day focusing on making sure you didn't see the pain that I felt, and all of my energy was put towards that fake smile when I said I was OK with how you treated me. There are not words for the feeling I got when parents of teammates asked why I didn't play more or why I got pulled after one mistake, I simply didn't have an answer. The way you made me feel about myself and my ability to play ball made me hate myself, not only did you make me doubt my ability to play, but you also turned my teammates against me to where they didn't trust my abilities. I would not wish the pain you caused me on my greatest enemy. I pray that one day, eventually, when all of your players quit coming back that you realize that it isn't all about winning records. It's about the players.

You can have winning records without a good coach if you have a good team, but you won't have a team if you can't treat players with the respect they deserve.

SEE ALSO: To The Little Girl Picking Up A Basketball For The First Time


Cover Image Credit: Equality Charter School

Related Content

Connect with a generation
of new voices.

We are students, thinkers, influencers, and communities sharing our ideas with the world. Join our platform to create and discover content that actually matters to you.

Learn more Start Creating

Poetry On Odyssey: My Thoughts As A Teenage Insomniac

"Shifty minds in a shifty night."

9
views

My thoughts have hit a new low,
My bedroom is feeling too cold-
I wanna sleep but my bedspread's only made for two.

DON'T FIX MY AESTHETIC,
I'M CALLING A MEDIC-
I'LL F**K ON THE TABLE,
AND HOTBOX WITH GOD.

Illusions depicted,
Writing hometown fictitions,
And drinking big bottles with uplifting tongues.

I'M PLAYING WITH RATTLES,
I'VE UPSET SOME CATTLE
WHO WASHED UP A BOMB-

Rolling around twisting some thoughts,
I've gotten insomnia-
And switched on and off.
I'm subtle and bitter,
I've craved for hard liquor,
But felt gross off the thought.

GO DRINK SOME BEER,
AND THEY WILL ALL CHEER-
I GO IN AND OUT
OH F**K I JUST SHOUT!
I PUNCHED MY FRIEND BOBBY
I'M MAKING A HOBBY,
TO SUCK ON MY THUMB!

My mind is a gutter,
A repulsive mess.
I shift around-
On and off bed.
For the nighttime thoughts lingers
And I'm shriveled with thought.
For graveyard hours really just suck.

LIGHTS ON, ON AND OFF
I THINK FELL,
THESE MOMENTS SUCK

I'm a teenage insomniac,
Whatever will I do?
When my mind comes down under,
I relapse again.

Related Content

Facebook Comments